


An Unlikely Distraction

by rebelcinderella



Series: An Unlikely Romance [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Molly, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Interesting First Dates, Irene Adler gets what she deserves, Lovely Fluff, No Actual Detective Work, Personal Diaries, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-04-24 08:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelcinderella/pseuds/rebelcinderella
Summary: What happens to Molly and Sherlock's relationship after he insults her so publicly? Will Sherlock learn to trust his feelings? Will Molly let him in again? Slight off-shoot from Series 2 Episode 1: A Scandal in Belgravia.





	1. Open Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> My first complete fan-fiction work, originally published 6 years ago on Fanfiction.net. Missed the fanfic writing community, dipping my toe back in with this little Sherlock/Molly romantic number. Enjoy!

“Dearest Sherlock, Love Molly xxx

Molly's body went hot, then cold, before a blush spread across her face.

"You always say such horrible things. Every time. Always..." Her voice trailed off in mortification and humiliation. Around her, Lestrade, Watson, Mrs Hudson and John's teacher girlfriend Jeanette openly cringed, angry at Sherlock for upsetting Molly and hoping against hope that she would be okay, in time.

Molly ran away from 221B Baker Street, hard though it was in a tight dress and heels, but she could not stand to be in front of those scrutinous ice blue eyes anymore. So smug, so calculating and oh so unfeeling. She heard cries from John telling her to come back, and that Sherlock was sorry, but she rushed on, intent on being as far away as possible from the clueless consulting detective. She did not want Sherlock to see her cry.

Sherlock lay awake that night thinking about a woman. But it wasn't the woman that everybody thought it was, Irene Adler, but someone else altogether. The light to Adler's dark, the sun to her shade. The innocent, friendly, eager to please pathologist Molly Hooper. Truth be told, he was much more comfortable thinking about Adler than he was about Molly Hooper, because Irene Adler provided a sense of intellectual equality, brain stimulation and over-zealous CSI agents on the make. Thinking about Molly made him regretful, sad and uncomfortable. Her face as she resigned herself to the fact that her present was to be scorned, not appreciated. Her sadness as he mocked her mouth and breasts, and the cry of distress as she fled from his flat made for some very unsettling bedtime thoughts.

John's face as he had come back in from trying to convince Molly to come back had been something to behold. He didn't look disappointed, annoyed or even affronted, he just looked furious as all get out.

“How could you be so cruel Sherlock? How could you not know, with all your genius and intellect, that the present was heartfelt and FOR YOU?"

The room was silent, Sherlock's unfamiliar shame and everybody's discomfort the elephant in the room.

"She's run off, on her own, two days before Christmas, in tears, because you couldn't take a day off. Not once. You're a disgrace Sherlock. Admit it." With that, Dr John Watson stalked from the room, door slammed behind him, leaving a crowd of confused guests to make their ways home and a reluctant host to sit and stare at the walls and wonder why everybody else was so harsh.

Molly lay in bed, the tears of shame and unrequited love now just hiccups of sadness and fatigue. She knew that he was aloof, probably asexual and married to his work, but she did not realise that her body parts were targets of his derision. Her brain played, over and over again, his amusement as he wondered which man in London was the apple of her eye, small-breasted, big-mouthed Molly Hooper. The shame was too much to bear. Molly closed her eyes.

Someone was knocking at her door, but her brain would not tell her whether it was real or a dream. Molly chose to ignore it, thinking her brain must be playing tricks on her, and it was all part of her dream. The knocking continued, and Molly was forced to sit up, and look at her clock. 3.30AM. Eurgh, she thought, climbing out of her double bed, and shuffling to her apartment door. She was too dazed to take in the tall, slim frame, the ice blue eyes, the unruly black curls and the great overcoat, but when her brain finally caught up with her eyes, her breath caught in her throat, and her mouth went dry.

 

 

 


	2. Le Jeu a Pied

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock struggles to re-define his association with Molly, and Molly is in for a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found the “I Need a Dollar/Buzzin' “ mashup by The Saturdays a true inspiration when I originally wrote this story, so check it out. Oh and if anyone gets the meaning of the title, let me know!

“Wh-What are you doing here?" Molly stammered as Sherlock strolled in the apartment, eyes shrewdly surveying the pace before fixing upon hers.

"Molly..." Sherlock seemed to squirm, or whatever the Sherlock equivalent was, as he began to wonder why he came. His thoughts had told him to visit her, explore why her being hurt was suddenly so important, and also how he had overlooked such a kind, caring person for so long.

Molly didn't know where to look. The focus of all her fantasies was standing in the middle of her hallway, fully dressed, while she wore nothing but a strappy top and heart printed flannel bottoms. She felt bare, like he could see into her mind, see the lust and attraction that had been burning for months on end. See how she wanted nothing more than for him to look at her the way a man ought to look at a woman. She knew that she wasn't the prettiest of girls, nor the best conversationalist, but she wanted to give Sherlock more than just that. She wanted to give him love.

Sherlock, being a high functioning sociopath, had never understood what led a man to be intrigued by a woman on more than an intellectual level, but he knew that- maybe, perhaps, possibly- Molly needed and wanted more than the cold, asexual person he had become. It was easy enough to see the signs of attraction emanating from her very being. Her pupils had dilated considerably, her lips were parted as though struggling to get some air, and her body language screamed nerves, shyness and attraction. This stirred something within him, purely a biological response, he told himself, a genetic need to seduce Molly Hooper, touch Molly Hooper and love Molly Hooper until his brand was all over her. Watson and the rest were all obtuse. Irene Adler? Of course he liked a puzzle, a mystery, that much was well known, but he did not have time to deal with those in his private life. He had Mycroft and John enough for that, or at least the closest they could come to a puzzle for him. No, Irene Adler was not in the picture whatsoever. Molly Hooper, however, now here was a mystery: how did a mousey, socially awkward pathologist own a modern, tastefully done, almost chic apartment in Stoke Newington and the intelligence to help him with his cases? Yes, he thought, Molly Hooper had piqued his interest.

Molly realised that they had been standing in her hallway for some time now, and despite being clad in next to nothing, she felt very hot. Something about Sherlock had changed, and she wasn't sure how she felt about it.

“Err...would you like some coffee, Sherlock?" She was certain he would make some derisive comment, become the Sherlock she recognised.

Sherlock stepped right to her now, smiled in what he hoped was a warm manner, and whispered in his deep, sexual voice, "Yes."

Molly felt herself burn as she took in Sherlock Holmes in his tailored black suit and shirt, realising she would very likely have to touch him in order to get past. She managed with more grace than the felt before saying "The living room is through here if you want to sit, or here's the kitchen if you'd prefer. "

Sherlock silently stalked off, and Molly felt her heart turn in confusion. She busied herself making the coffee, trying not to think about the tall, handsome man in her house.

She finished making the coffee and called Sherlock. On receiving no reply, Molly began to worry. No TV was on, nor the bathroom light to indicate the detective was using the facilities. Apart from her kitchen and small garden, there was only one room left in the house. Shit, Molly thought, uncharacteristically cursing. Either he had left or was in her bedroom. She wasn't sure which one she really wanted as Sherlock made her super nervous. Breathing deeply , she opened the door. Sherlock wasn't in here as far as she could tell, but his scent permeated this room. She blushed, thinking that the detective had looked through her underwear before leaving as swiftly as he came.

The door slammed shut, as the room descended into pitch black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly was always the pairing that intrigued me; he recognised her intellect and she didn’t judge his eccentricities. Having an on-screen romance probably never would have worked, but that’s what we are here for! 
> 
> RC x


	3. A Promise is a Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gives Molly a demonstration.

Molly opened her mouth to scream before a hand was placed over her mouth and a smooth voice whispered "I won't hurt you I promise."

Sherlock was still in her room, his body placed against hers, breath lightly tickling her neck.

Molly's body betrayed her nervous excitement. Why was Sherlock behaving so strangely towards her when he had been so mean beforehand? Why was he in her flat at nearly 4am, in her room, so close? Hr heart thumped in her chest, her womanhood disclosing her excitement and her brain screaming for answers.

Sherlock removed his hand and stepped away for a few moments, in the direction of her dresser. Molly's eyes began to adjust to the dark as the sultry sounds of Shilts' A Promise is a Promise" echoed through the room. Heavy saxophone and jazzy piano made Sherlock smile in the darkness, and confused Molly even further.

"I bet, Molly Hooper, that you are wondering why I am here.”

Molly didn't respond, knowing that Sherlock wasn't expecting an answer. He never did.

"Most women, when they fawn over me, do so about my superb intelligence and illustrious career. Occasionally, they try to draw me in with puzzles, and games. Fun for a while, but again, very predictable. But you, Miss Hooper, you chose to be nice, even when I was nasty to you, offered me help, even when I rebuffed your advances. Tonight, you piqued my interest..."

Here, Sherlock stopped, before flicking on the tall lamp that was stood next to the dresser and looked into Molly's big, terrified eyes.

"Don't be frightened, Molly, I won't do anything...nefarious...well...not anything you won't like." he continued, eyes near wavering from hers.

"Tonight Molly Hooper, you and I are going to explore."

Molly felt as she had experienced all her Christmases and medial school exams at the same time. Finally getting what she had always wanted and worrying about her performance inr one go fizzled through be body, his steps getting closer to hers.

As the saxophone reached its peak, Sherlock's lips touched hers and her would world went up in flames.

Why did she taste so sweet? Why did her lips feel so soft? Sherlock's brain both whirred and stilled at exactly the same moment. He was kissing Molly Hooper, and she was kissing him back. With a lot of passion. Something stirred within his manhood. Oh, but this pent up passion of hers was almost delightful! How had he not cracked this puzzle before? He caressed the side of Molly's face, feeling soft skin and a smile.

His suit jacket came off, as her top came up and the kiss became more and more passionate. Molly's brain registered nothing but sparks and fireworks, and Sherlock's brain sped up with the promise of the night. Kisses became light bites and sighs became moans of happiness and ecstasy. Molly looked down at herself and then at Sherlock Holmes. They were both naked, and the air in the room thick with the senses of lust, passion and expectation. Sherlock picked Molly up and turned her to her bed, laying her down gently, taking care to ensure his weight didn't crush her or hurt her in any way.

Molly noticed how gentle he was being and tears came to her eyes. Even if he didn't realise, he was showing that he cared. Tomorrow, he would deny it, a though it had been an accident, but subconsciously he was showing that he cared.

"Do you trust me, Molly Hooper?" Sherlock's voice seemed like it was surround sound. She shouldn't. She really shouldn't, but he was here, with her, and she wasn't going to give up her shot with her dream guy.

Sherlock, suddenly showing his sexual confusion, fumbled on top of her. His lips kissed down her chest, tentatively flicking at her rosy nipples before moving to kiss her stomach. He had asked her if she trusted him, but she could see it was taking a lot of trust for him to even be here, like this, with her. Yes, he trusted her, and she loved him even more for it.

"You're wet." He said quietly and she blushed. "Yes I am Sherlock, it's because of you." Damn why did she say that? She always managed to make a fool of...Oh!

A warm hand was on her secret area, and the juices of her lust came thicker and faster until she was sure his entire hand must be covered with evidence of her pleasure. Embarrassed, Molly tried to hide her face, but Sherlock took his free hand and removed hers from her face.

"Don't be embarrassed, Molly Hooper."

She was so grateful to him for putting her at ease, because she hated that her body had betrayed the amount of excitement she had, even after he had made her cry.

Sherlock felt very guilty about how he had made this sweet, sexy woman cry, and his heart and drive told him to protect Molly from himself and anyone else that hurt her. He wanted to be a man in a way he never wanted to before- something which Mycroft hadn't let him forget.

"Sherlock...Sherl..Sherlock" Molly gasped, female desire taking over any shame and embarrassment the young pathologist felt.

Sherlock had never wanted to give himself to anyone before, and now, if Watson had asked him to retie the 243 types of tobacco ash, he would not have remembered a single thing. This thought unsettled him.

Both Hooper and Holmes shut their eyes, and Molly gasped as Sherlock felt his very soul being stretched, gloriously, in every direction imaginable. She had introduced him to a different world, this delectable doctor, and it was a tight, warm wet world. Oh he had to have more.

He withdrew, and her lips quivered. He entered again, and withdrew, the pace so sweet, so smooth, so sensual. They both understood how important this was to the other, the uncertainty and the emotion behind it. 

The sweet torture seemingly went on forever, long after the music had died. The bed squealed and squeaked in protest as Sherlock and Molly became more than just Sherlock and Molly, but two people sucumbing to emotion and desire.

"Oh oh oh, yes" growled Sherlock, not dissimilar to when he had a great case, before he kissed her long and passionate, then fell on his back next to her.

Neither of them wanted to open their mouths, ruin the moment which neither of them expected. They both lay in her bed, neither of them willing to admit they were still awake, until, after seeming hours of lying awake the air was punctuated with quiet breaths.


	4. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lestrade fires first, asks questions later.

Molly stood in the lab, examining the body of one Mr Stetson, brain not taking in what she was reading. COD was prolonged poisoning and a family of three were waiting nervously to find out what killed their husband and father. 

But poor Molly Hooper's heart and brain did not engage with that fact as they normally did. No, all Molly Hooper's brain could remember was Sherlock's body over hers, thrusting, gently at first, before he gave both of them such excellent orgasms. His kisses, all over her body, his guttural cries of "Oh Molly...Molly!" and the sweet soundtrack of jazz, something which they had both enjoyed immensely. She didn't know whether Sherlock and herself had any sort of arrangement or if he had even meant to see her as any more than his pathologist. Molly blushed how easily he was able to get under her skin. How easily she had let him in and made love with him. Molly Hooper never did things like that, but with Sherlock it was different. She was his pathologist, and she was sure...sort of...that he would not do anything to harm her. The way he had walked out with nothing more than a tender peck on the kiss, a mumbled goodbye and a slam of her bedroom door made her worry though. Oh, what had she done?

"Where have you been?" John Watson demanded of Sherlock when he walked in through the door at 10am the next morning.

Sherlock never saw the point of making anything up when he didn't feel he had to, it was something that ordinary people did.

"I was at Molly Hooper's apartment. We had sexual relations."

John's face looked like something out of a You've Been Framed episode.

"You did what?"

Sherlock repeated himself in the hope that, this time, Watson would actually engage his brain and take in the information he was given.

"Sherlock, what on earth were you thinking? You cannot just mess with her heart and emotions like she is another version of you. You saw what damage you did to her with your deduction and-"

"If I wanted a lecture, I would have gone to the Diogenes Club to see Mycroft. As it happens, I want nothing but peace and quiet." With that, Sherlock walked upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.

In truth, Sherlock didn't think that John was wrong to reprimand him for making love to Molly, because he had no idea why he had done it. Ordinary people would have claimed something to do with feeling emotion or attraction, but he wasn't ordinary. He thought he had become a bit more understanding to the emotional side with the arrival of Miss Adler, but even that had been clinical and intelligent, not passionate and unreasonable. No, this was new. He hadn't intended on making love to Molly when he went to see her at 4am, but when he got there, apologising and giving her a small kiss did not seem sufficient to soothe the new feelings that had raged through him after witnessing her run away because of his unintentionally cruel actions. He felt disgusted with himself for becoming ordinary, but he could not deny the beauty of the act that they had committed together, with smooth jazz playing in the background. She had something warm and earthy and homely about her, like a secret present waiting to be unwrapped at Christmas. She was a puzzle, but not one that he wanted to solve too quickly for fear of feeling empty afterwards. Sherlock sat down on his bed, the sound of Watson reading his paper and muttering to himself soothing in the maelstrom of his mind.

Molly didn't normally deliver the news to families about the cause of death, that was the detective's job, but something about the fragile woman and her two young sons made her heart roll over in her chest. She stepped outside, sombre as the woman looked up at her, eyes red and tired from stress and sorrow.

"Mrs Stetson, hi". She said, sitting down and reaching for the woman's hand. The woman took the hand offered to her and broke down. Molly found it difficult to know what to say, but she soldiered on, trying her best not to prolong the woman's worry, especially over the festive season.

"Your husband was poisoned over a prolonged period of time. It seems that somebody put miniscule amounts of arsenic in his sleeping powder and left it to take its effect. I am very sorry. The police will be in touch with you very soon to help you find “who might have done this to your husband. Again, Mrs Stetson I am very sorry for your loss."

Molly knew better than to say anything more than what was necessary: condolences and precise information. She stayed with the woman for a few minutes before ushering her and her two sons out of the miserable morgue of St Barts Hospital and hoped that they would be able to find support in the trying days ahead.

Molly barely had any minutes to herself after helping the family before two, nay ,three men strode through the door rattling away bits of information and retorts off each other.

Lestrade was the only one who was not aware of the awkward situation between Sherlock and Molly, and the shenanigans which had taken place that same morning.

"Morning Molly!" 

Molly blushed furiously as Sherlock stood in the corner of the pathology lab, staring at her intently. All she could think of was “his lips on hers, him inside her, over and over again.

"Mo-morning Detective Inspector" Molly stammered, unable to think with Sherlock staring at her as though he wanted to eat her.

"Why are you looking so shy? We have lots of information here for you." Greg Lestrade had shown a lot of interest in Molly at the Christmas party last night and she did not know how he would take it that Sherlock had made love to her in the early hours of the morning.

"Why don't you ask Sherlock, since he woke up in her bed this morning?" John did not mean to tell Sherlock's private business to the detective inspector, but he felt very protective towards Molly Hooper.

Apparently, so did DI Lestrade, who promptly turned around and punched Sherlock in the face, knocking him to the floor.


	5. Sherlock Surrenders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock swipes right.

“Oh my gosh!" both John and Molly exclaimed, shocked at the detective inspector for actually punching Sherlock in the face.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Are you really that inhumane? After the way you insulted her in front of everyone! Everybody knows how much she cares for you, and you continue to use her as your own personal doctor, for whenever you need to use the lab. She is a kind, decent young woman and she does not deserve you working on her like some sort of experiment!"

Molly couldn't bear to see that even Lestrade knew just how little Sherlock must really care about her. She could not believe that she had actually let herself believe that making love to Sherlock, and making love to Sherlock, would actually strengthen the bond between them, from acquaintances and occasional friends “to...she didn't know what she expected, as she ran out of the laboratory.

"I mean seducing her, Sherlock? That is despicable. I hope you feel very proud of yourself, making her run out on you, two days in a row."

Sherlock did not think he could listen to the bumbling Detective Inspector make any more disgraceful presumptions about the nature of his regard for Molly. It was time for a systematic dressing down.

"As per usual, your brilliant policeman's mind has failed to deduce what is right in front of you. This is why you need me to solve all your cases for you. I did not seduce Molly this morning. I went there to speak to her, apologise and...figure out the new...feelings that I have about our acquaintance. It is not my fault that I am more human that you give me credit for, Lestrade, and I was controlled by sexual attraction and connection. Oh no need to look quite so surprised, Detective Inspector, I do actually function with a beating heart and feelings, like you ordinary people. But I do not expect you to understand that. I slept with Molly because I wanted to, not because I have to, and I would thank you to not be a violent oaf in future, and for both of you to mind your own business." 

With that, Sherlock brushed past DI Lestrade and Dr Watson, slamming the door behind him. Molly sat in Leo's cafe, nursing a broken ego and a broken heart with a hot chocolate and pain au chocolat by her side. She needed as much chocolate as she could get her hands on to blot out the embarrassment she felt as the three men discussed Sherlock using her to mend his sore feelings. How could she be so stupid as to believe him? Molly closed her eyes in self-hatred. She was never going to be like that woman that was texting him, the woman who had customised his ring-tone and captured his heart. Molly let one solitary tear run down her cheek. 

Sherlock paused as he strode out of the front entrance of St Bart's Hospital. It angered him that Watson and Lestrade thought the worst of him that he could use Molly as nothing more than a lab rat. Even though she could be a little irritating because she so obviously fawned over him, he would never stoop to using her body to get favour at St Bart's; he was more of a gentleman than that. He needed to see her and make it right. Sherlock was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of a text message. A woman's moan. 

"I'm lonely. Let's have dinner."

Sherlock closed his eyes. If everyone's perception of relationships was to be believed, Irene Adler was still in the picture, and he had forgotten about her completely. Molly had taken complete precedence in his mind, and the almost desperate textings of Irene Adler seemed pathetic by comparison. Molly had dealt with unrequited love for months and months on end, being in close proximity to him and even being graceful about him insulting her Christmas present. 

Sherlock scanned the shops opposite the hospital. Molly was responsible enough not to run far when she was on shift, and if anything, she was nursing herself with a coffee and a pastry, after listening to the Detective Inspector incorrectly label him as a insensitive monster. There was no way she would let him again after Lestrade had...what had he done exactly? And then Mr Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective of 221B Baker Street, surrendered. He didn't know what these alien feelings were, they were nothing like what he had ever thought they would feel like, and they weren't as horrifying and dehabilitating as he had always thought it was. Molly Hooper was going to be romanced the way she deserved to be, the way he knew he could, and the way she wanted to be. Sherlock Holmes had surrendered, and he was going to enjoy it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sad thing is, my chapter summary wouldn’t have made sense when I wrote this in 2012, because Tinder didn’t exist. *Sigh*
> 
> Enjoying so far?


	6. She’s All That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock lays his heart on the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m opening anon comments so please, be nice!

Molly knew from the minute that Sherlock sat down that life was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

“Molly' he intoned, just quietly enough for her to hear him.

Sherlock sat opposite her in the cafe, patiently waiting for Molly to say something to him as opposed to flat out ignoring him. True, he never expected any of this to happen, but hadn't she wanted this for ages? For him to show a romantic interest in her?

'Go away Sherlock.' she whispered back at him, eyes firmly placed on the pain au chocolat and its white saucer in front of her.

'Molly, I never meant to hurt you. Lestrade was very wrong about my intentions.'

'Why should I believe you? I bought you the most exquisite men's accessories I could find and compiled them just for you, and you laughed in my face. Why should I believe you now that you didn't want to hurt me?'

'Molly, you know me. You were there last night, when it was just the two of us and “nobody else's opinions. You saw the true me.'

Molly blushed, trying to ignore the reminder of her stupidity, getting into bed with the man she liked the minute he showed her any attention. It had brought her nothing but confusion and trouble since that night at his flat, and she was beginning to wish she hadn't made such a fool of herself.

"Molly Hooper" Sherlock continued, even more softly, "Will you go to dinner with me?"

Molly was about to refuse him and, quite uncharacteristically for her, tell him where to shove his deerstalker novelty hat when she looked up at him. His blue eyes bored into her own, and there was nary a smirk or grin on his face.

Wh-What?" Molly stuttered, too shocked to keep the cool demeanour she had been trying to maintain.

"Oh come Molly, don't stutter. You were doing so well!" Sherlock retorted sardonically, both annoyed and relieved- if that was even possible- that Molly was reverting to type around him. It made him feel comfortable that she was still the same Hooper after they had had sex, but he wanted her to be more confident now that he was reciprocating her feelings for him.

"Would I like to go to dinner with you, did you ask?" Molly repeated, dumbfounded, breaking into his thoughts.

"Well, did you hear me say anything else?" Sherlock quite forgot that he was meant to be attempting to romance Molly, not treat her the way he always did, and by the look on her face, she wasn't looking too convinced that he wasn't playing her for some kind of bet.

"I'm sorry...I mean, yes, I did ask you to dinner, and I would be delighted if you would accept my invitation. I think it would be a nice way to celebrate that odd gap between Christmas and New Year, as well as..."  
He paused here, not sure what he wanted to say or how to phrase it. He looked up at Molly, who was looking up at him expectantly and not quite believingly about his intentions, so he decided to forge ahead and hope for the best.

"As well as get to know you better and see if we can make something of this." he finished, realising that putting himself in this position was not as easy as he had believed when watching other people do it. He had officially told Molly Hooper that he was interested in a romantic relationship of some description, and he felt physically sick to his stomach with nerves.

Molly still said nothing, and Sherlock began to feel that he had a made a mistake somewhere, and not liking the idea.

"La Traviata, Saturday night, 7 o clock?" He hastened to add, hoping the name of the chic, romantic restaurant would inspire some reaction from her.

"I'll have to think about it" Molly said quietly before getting up and leaving, with Sherlock left with nothing but the pain au chocolat and the buzz of the crowd for company.


	7. The Private Diary of Dr John Watson

December 24th 2011

Well, today has been one of those days. Sherlock has shocked everyone once again, but this time it's different. He hasn't made any insensitive comments about stillborn daughters or played games with a psychopathic taxi driver. Instead, he expects us to believe he has entered into some sort of romance with Molly. Our Molly. The sweet, shy, very love-forlorn pathologist and the crazy, ice-cold consulting detective. I don't know if he is serious or playing a joke on everyone, but Greg Lestrade punched in square in the face for his troubles. To be honest, I am not entirely sure why he had that reaction, but more on that later.

An unlikely thought has just crawled into my mind, like a solder in the trenches trying to stay out of sight rather than running across no mans land. Sherlock wouldn't really be that cold to play Molly along for some sort of bet or challenge, would he? And if he was, who on earth would be benefiting from such a cruel scheme? The only person who could see that as remotely funny would be Moriarty, and I think even the two of them would draw the line at working together just for a laugh. 

To make matters worse, he apparently has stopped even paying attention to Irene Adler's text messages. Nairy a glance or twitch when the orgasm like noise she programmed into his phone goes off. It's like he is serious about making Molly the only the only female in his life, but why now? I wish I knew what Sherlock was up to, because someone is going to get hurt, and I don't want it to be Molly. Even Mrs Hudson has theoretically taken Molly under her wing, terrified of what Sherlock might do. Bless Mrs Hudson. She doesn't deserve to have thumbs in her fridge, eyes in her microwave and her wall shot to pieces out of boredom. It isn't right. Sherlock is like a child who needs constant supervision...

…...Actually, I won't be here to look after Sherlock tomorrow or deal with the fallout of anything that might happen between now and Boxing Day, as I have been invited to a ex-military personnel Christmas retreat, with half the entry fee going to Help for Heroes. Definitely a good way to get out of the city and to meet some more, less insane, people. I think Mrs Hudson and Molly are out of town too, but I don't know what Sherlock will be doing. Probably sharing Christmas dinner and cracker with his skull. As long as he leaves Molly alone and avoids getting punched in the face by DI Lestrade, that shall be a success.

But why did the Detective Inspector punch him in the face? I still don't understand that. I know that he was giving her the appreciative eye at the Christmas party the other night, but it didn't seem anything more than that. Does he feel romance towards her? Does he have protective feelings for her? Is it a combination of both? After Molly and Sherlock ran out, he looked very sheepish and wasn't very forthcoming with his motive apart from to say "I have wanted to do that for a long time, and now was as good a time as any." As explanations go, it made a lot of sense, because I took great fun out of punching Sherlock not long ago, but it didn't feel like the whole explanation. Something tells me that this episode is about to get a whole lot longer.

John Watson.

P.S Where did they both go after she ran out? And why is he not back yet?


	8. Molly Surrenders

Molly opened the door to her apartment, glad to be back in the city. She loved going to Worcestershire to see her family, but she did not like the interrogation that she often got when various family members found out she was still single. She knew very well that she was not getting any younger, and she didn't like that her great-aunt Edith kept reminding her of it.

The one thing that she was not looking forward to, however, was the decision about dinner tonight. She had put it off over the holidays, in the hope that, with her indecision, Sherlock's request would go away. He had texted her, wishing her a merry Christmas and she had responded in kind, but aside from that, they had remained firmly silent to each other. Molly wasn't too sure that she liked that he hadn't tried harder to contact her, but she wasn't about to slip into her old habits and make the first move.

Did she want to go to dinner with him? She knew the answer already, but she also knew he would probably make a fool of her or otherwise make her feel like she had made a horrible mistake. She wanted to dress up and go on a date with this man to La Traviata, the best restaurant in the neighbourhood and she wanted him to see what he had been missing out on for all this time.

Molly dropped her bags and headed to the bathroom for a shower. This required some more thought.

Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, violin in hand, with Mycroft reading the newspaper and John, sat at the table, blogging away about some nonsense or the other, and Sherlock was bored. Bored and worried. He had no cases on the go, apart from Irene Adler and her mess, which frankly had got old very quickly, and he had heard no news from Molly about whether she was up for dinner with him tonight. He had thought he would have heard from her by now, especially after their encounter the other night, and Sherlock couldn't understand it. Why had she not contacted him? He hadn't contacted her either, apart from to wish her well for the holidays, hoping that absence would make...something...but nothing. Sherlock hated it, and he wanted everyone to know it.

"John, I do hope your tedious need to blog utter drivel will be gone by the new year." he snapped, getting irritated at his housemate's incessant tapping on the laptop.

Dr Watson didn't even respond to him, and Mycroft merely fluffed his paper and continued. They both knew why Sherlock was in such a poor mood, and neither of them had any reason to entertain him.

Silence reigned in the house once more until the sound of a chime echoed through the small flat. He really needed to change his ringtone, Sherlock thought.

"La Traviata, 7pm, pick me up. Behave or I leave. Don't be late. Molly."

Sherlock smiled.


	9. The Private Diary of DI Greg Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and the green eyed monster

What is the world coming to? Molly is going to dinner with Sherlock. John just texted me to let me know. Molly shouldn't have accepted the invitation he offered her, even if it was the best restaurant in the entire North London area. I should have known that, after all this time pining after Sherlock, she would go to dinner with him when he decided it was within his interests to ask, regardless of how long she had be

She's too good for him, everyone can see that. The way he has treated her since their acquaintance and especially lately beggars belief. I was hoping that someone more...worthy of her would have the chance to take her out to dinner and show her what true romance and chivalry is all about. But, instead, she dated that madman Jim Moriarty and now she is going to date his arch nemesis Sherlock Holmes.

I should have taken the chance when I had it, reader, I should have stopped him when he left the morgue that day. He already has Irene Adler on a string, why doesn't he learn to share? I don't even want to think about what is going to happen to her if she is left in the hands of that freak for too long, and it's anybody's guess what Sergeant Sally Donovan will have to say when she finds out.

Now you mention it, sometimes I wonder if Sally secretly wants a chance with Sherlock. She certainly plays the hate element of their relationship far too well to hate someone quite so much. Is there a history there that nobody wants to mention?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop: DATE NIGHT and it’s gonna be a long one.


	10. Bring Me The Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Date Night. Fluff. Long chapter. Sorry!

Molly sat in her living room in Stoke Newington, just waiting for the text that would tell her that Sherlock had cancelled on her for some better opportunity. He had no reason to date her now, he had already got what he wanted, a bit of fun, a chance to prove a point, and she would be sat on her own, all dressed up and nowhere to go.

She had on a midnight blue dress and silver heels, with her hair done up in a chic side ponytail. She had taken time to pick her dress this time, bexause she wanted to be seen as a sophisticated woman, and not the meek pathologist who had been pining after him all this time. She had shown him in her reluctance to jump at the invitation that she was also in control of...whatever it was they had, and she wasn't about to relinquish it.

There was a knock at her apartment door, and she paused. The knock came again, more persistent this time, and Molly got up gingerly, scared of what was on the other side of the door.

“Molly? I can hear you breathing. Open the door." The worst was over, she knew he was outside, and he obviously knew that she was in here, waiting for him. She reached out and opened the door and her eyes widened.

Sherlock stood there, in a pale grey suit, white shirt and ice blue tie perfectly matching his eyes. His customary black overcoat was slung over his arm, and in his hand he held...

"A rose, for you. I believe it is customary for the gentleman to bring the lady a flower or some other small token at the beginning of a date?"

Molly nodded, dumbfounded. Had he figured this out all by himself? Had he had help? Did it matter? In his hand, he held a single blood red rose. For her. He had come, for her, for dinner, with a rose.

"Thank you Sherlock." She thanked him, trying to maintain a clear, level headed tone when inside, her stomach was a bundle of butterflies and nerves.

“Our taxi awaits, shall we go?" Sherlock looked down at her, with a sort of smirk on his face. Not an unkind one, just a Sherlock-type one.

"Yes, we should, Sherlock." She smiled back before grabbing her own lightweight stone trench coat. Sherlock offered her his arm, and she took it, still slightly in shock at the odd turn of event.

"So, Molly, how was your Christmas?" Sherlock turned to her in the taxi, clearly trying to make sure that he did the required small talk necessary for a date. Molly kind of felt sorry for him. He was going way out of his comfort zone to give her the night he thought she might want, and it clearly wasn't all that easy for him.

"It was fine, thank you. I went to Worcestershire to see my extended family. Had a lot of wine, a lot of food and a lot of inquisition from my great-aunt Edith who has a habit of asking me about my love life and asking me when I am going to have kids. She's kind of like you in a way, quirky and insufferable but still liked." Sherlock smiled at this, and Molly blushed. She was finding it harder to be stern than she thought she would.

The rest of the taxi journey passed in silence, with Sherlock staring out of the window with a smile on his face, and Molly feeling more and more nervous as they headed into Central London. She had almost decided she should jump out of the taxi and catch a bus back home to save from making a complete fool of herself, but Sherlock looked over at her as the taxi stopped and said simply: "It'll be fine."

He gestured for her to take his arm as they walked into the Italian restaurant, and Molly was instantly seduced by the red and white and dark mahogany interior. The air was thick with all kinds of scents, and everyone around them was dressed to the nines. Molly was glad she had made the effort, and Sherlock seemed pleased to be there.

The waiter took her chair for her, and Sherlock gestured for her to sit down. He himself sat down, asked the waiter in flawless Italian for the best red wine they had.

“So, Molly, what do you think of the choice of restaurant?" Sherlock enquired of her, seeing that Molly was still quite nervous, and, deciding he wanted to enjoy the evening, trying to allay her anxiety.

"I think it's beautiful!" Molly replied, forgetting for a moment about her nerves amidst her approval.

The waiter came over with the wine that Sherlock had instructed and asked them if they were ready to order. As they were, Sherlock let Molly order, who plumped for the sweet potato & goat's cheese ravioli for a starter, braised rabbit pappardelle for the main and affogato al caffè (Vanilla ice cream & coffee) for dessert. Sherlock followed smoothly, ordering roasted chestnut & herb pesto pasta with mushrooms for his starter, a lamb tagliata for his main and joining Molly with the affogato al caffè for his dessert.

Molly did look very pretty tonight, Sherlock thought to himself, before starting. He still hadn't got over the newness of the emotions he was feeling, and still felt shocked every time they crept up on him. She had worn a stunning midnight blue dress, with silver shoes, and her makeup and hair done very nicely indeed.

The night seemed to go by in a blur of laughter and good conversation. Food and drink came and went as Molly regaled Sherlock with some of the more gruesome encounters she had in the morgue, and she thoroughly enjoyed his retelling of the Chinese circus performers who had turned out to be smugglers and how he had helped take them down. Molly didn't feel nearly as nervous as she thought she would have, and Sherlock had been so much more gentlemanly and kind and...human than she had expected he would. Sherlock had never had so much fun in the company of one other person before, unless he counted teasing Mycroft mercilessly. He found that he possessed the extreme need and desire to continue going out with Molly, and that when she was relaxed and had some alcohol in her system, she was not nearly as nervous around him as she usually was. Of course, that was the same with everyone, but Sherlock liked that Molly came into her own and was actually interesting.

As they left the restaurant, nearly 4 hours later, and it became clear that the time had come to decide what was to become of the rest of the night, Molly found that she was very tentative about asking Sherlock back to her flat for a night cap. After what had happened the last time they were together, she knew that she would probably succumb to his charms again, but the overwhelming majority of her knew that she didn't want the night to end. It was magical, and whether they ended up making love again or not, Molly knew that she didn't want to see the following dawn arrive without him. In a moment of sheer madness and blind courage, she opened her mouth and said:

"Let's go back to mine."

Sherlock's ice blue eyes flashed with something inexplicable. Lust? Excitement? Satisfaction? Whatever it had been, it shook Molly to her core, and she had to look down to avoid melting into a puddle on the floor.

Sherlock summoned a taxi, and they climbed in, Molly very much aware that Sherlock was watching her every move as they drove back to Stoke Newington. The street lamps whizzed past the window as the taxi wound its way through Kings Cross and back into Islington. Within half an hour, they were up the stairs and back at Molly's flat, where she was fumbling for the key.

"Here, let me." Sherlock took the key from her hand, lingering his touch on hers a lot longer than necessary, before opening the door. Molly looked at Sherlock, and Sherlock looked back at her. His hand reached out to touch her jaw, before leaning in and kissing her again. Really kissing her. Molly felt as though her head was spinning, the floor had dissolved and all that was left was her and this man, this tall, ice cold, yet so hot, dangerous man, who was threatening her entire sanity. She didn't want it to end, but she knew if she let him carry on, she would be in her underwear on her front doorstep.

Sherlock wasn't sure who guided who into Molly's flat, but somehow they were in her bedroom, and they were kissing and making love over and over again, broken only by lots of talking and laughing as they recovered their strength. Neither of them could deny the chemistry that they had, and neither of them wanted to. It was there for everyone to see, they were ready to embrace it.

After a night to remember, Molly and Sherlock lay in her bed as the sun rose above the horizon, feeling dizzy from the alcohol, the euphoria of a new relationship and the promises of a bright future. For the two of them, as they sat in her room in Stoke Newington, nothing could permeate the good vibe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, it’s 2am in the UK so it’s sleepy time for me!
> 
> Rest of the story to follow x


	11. The Private Diary of Molly Hooper

Dear Diary,

I was not expecting that at all. Sherlock and I went out to dinner and it was AMAZING. He turned up at my door with a rose and escorted me to the taxi like a true gentleman. He didn't even make any sarcastic comments or snide asides about my dress colour or hair-style. In fact...he said he thought I looked beautiful. I am certain it's all a very good dream, diary.

He's in the bathroom at the moment, probably examining the scientific makeup of my toothpaste or something, but whatever it is, I bet it's hot. I didn't expect him to stay the night, or spend it with me the way that he did, but Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective, is my new boyfriend(!)

What do I do now? Do I have to play it cool or can I act like a new girlfriend would? What does that even entail? Do we do lunch now? Does he leave things over here? It's all so confusing. My last non-start romance was with Jim Moriarty, Sherlock's arch nemesis, and that gave me no idea of what I should do...apart from not date psychopaths maybe haha. Hopefully Sherlock won't expect conventional things- in fact, I am certain he won't- and maybe my worrying will all be for nothing.

I've waited a long time for this to come, Diary. Some may say too long, but good things come to those who wait. Last night was definitely a testament to that theory...Sherlock is attentive in every area...and I mean EVERY. His eyes are so blue and his skin is so soft...oh I'm in heaven.

Wait...I hear the bathroom door unlocking...I'd better go before he finds me writing this.

Until next time, Diary.

Molly xxx


	12. The Private Diary of Sherlock Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The diary entry everyone is curious to see.

Funny things, ordinary people. They chase after love all of their lives, and when they get it, it confuses them, hurts them and makes them write insipid love songs about birds and trees and flowers. It is positively hateful.

So what am I doing sat here at 7 in the morning staring into the face of Molly Hooper as she sleeps and wanting nothing more than to lie in bed with her all day? What is this awful feeling? John might have put himself to some use and, instead of telling he that the Earth goes round the sun, that such emotions were so...

...delightful.

Eurgh. Yes, I said it and I should hate myself for it, but I cant. And I hate myself for that. Oh I don't know. Who even cares? I mean its just hormones and chemicals and desire to buy her flowers and chocolates.

I blame this all on Lestrade. Great oaf shouldn't have punched me. Why did she have to look so pretty last night? And so graceful? Why didn't she stutter? What wrong with her? WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?

I knew this was all such a stupid endeavour. Sherlock Holmes is ALL ABOUT THE WORK. Not frolicking around with new girlfriend and buying roses in just the right shade. Its about the cases, the work, and even John's stupid blog.

Wait she's waking up...

...Girlfriend?!


	13. Hell Hath No Fury

Sherlock had just popped back into his kitchen, probably to massage the disembodied hand he had put in the microwave when Sherlock's phone went off. Molly couldn't help but see the text message that popped up on the screen, and when she did, she immediately wished that she hadn't.

"Maybe I should come round, to say hi. I'm lonely. I xx"

Molly's body went hot and cold. Who was this I person? Was this that woman who had been treating Sherlock so poorly and getting him wrapped up in even more trouble than he normally did? Why did she want to come round? Wasn't she meant to know that he had a relationship now? Was she just a friend? Molly had millions of questions swirling around her head, and her body didn't know whether to yell at Sherlock for an explanation or to just sit and cry and worry about this apparent competition that she had for Sherlock's affection.

Sherlock walked out of the kitchen, and found Molly still staring into space in the living room.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sensing that something had rattled Molly. But Molly suddenly had other ideas, she had a plan. Turning around brightly, she said:

"Nothing! I'm fine. I was just lost in thought about inane things, nothing important. "

Sherlock wasn't sure whether or not to believe her, but as he was more worrying about the collection of moisture underneath the fingernails of the disembodied hand than whatever small thing Molly was worrying about, he chose to believe her.

Molly had no idea when this Irene lady was, and whether or not Sherlock was being entirely honest with her, whether by omission or otherwise, but she wanted to stand up for herself and what she thought “she wanted. So Molly did a little lying by omission of her own, and began to plot.

It had taken a while but eventually, Sherlock had gone out to meet John, who was staying at Jeannette's trying to patch things up, not apparently caring that this I lady wanted to come over for his companionship. Molly had elected to stay in with her fan fiction account, a cup of tea and the Series 3 box set of Gossip Girl, secretly not wanting to miss a chance to tell whoever this woman was that Sherlock had a serious girlfriend and she needed to back off. She had deliberately jumped in the shower when Sherlock had left; putting on a casual black jumper and jeans, and some perfume that she had only for special occasions, but made sure it appeared that she was casual. Whoever this lady was, Molly wasn't the timid person she used to be, and if it turned out this I had some claim to Sherlock, she wasn't going to let herself be made a fool of; not again. Whatever happened, she wanted that for herself. 

Nevertheless, she sat down in the sofa, opened up her Waterloo Road fan fiction and let the love/hate relationship between Chuck Bass and Blair Waldorf wash over her.

Several episodes had passed by, and many chocolates and wine had disappeared when there was a cough at the opening of the flat.

The strange exotic creature at the door looked at Molly with little more than a passing glance.

"Hello there, you must be the help. I'm Irene Adler, and I am looking for a certain good-looking gentleman that I have an arrangement with. You know, your charge: amazing cheekbones, ice-blue eyes, tall, slim and very sarcastic. A bit of a doll really."

Molly's eyes darkened. She didn't know who this bitch was, but she wasn't going to let her think she was the help.

"An arrangement?" she bit out icily.

"Yes, there is a definite...frisson, chemistry between us.”

“That's amazing, because I am his girlfriend. Dr Molly Hooper. Not the help or the maid. How much did he use to pay you for this sort of arrangement?"

Irene Adler clearly hadn't expected any of this. Girlfriend? Doctor? Was this plain something actually trying to insinuate she was some sort of concubine?

“Listen, I do not know who you think you are, and I am almost sure that someone as...plain as you could be a doctor or Sherlock's girlfriend. He doesn't do girlfriends, trust me I know. I don't think he would appreciate you sitting around watching inane American teen dramas when you could be cleaning out his kitchen. Who knows how many dead body parts you may find in there?" 

Irene Adler had clearly got herself back into shape and was relishing cutting down Molly with every word and insinuation that she could possibly think of.

"Seriously, you psychotic woman. I don't know who you think you are, but you cannot insult me in my boyfriend's flat. I may be plain, according to you, but I know for a fact he prefers his ladies the right side of 40?" 

To her surprise, Molly was out of her chair and standing in front of Irene Adler. She loved Sherlock and she was sure that, in his own weird way, Sherlock loved her too, and she would not stand for any trespassers putting her down.

"Psychotic?" Irene laughed. "Honey, you need to take a look in the mirror. I mean, really? You have no breasts to speak of. Your hair is some pathetic shade of ...what...light mousey brown? Your lips are far too thin, and you don't seem to have much in the way of a figure. If you said cousin or friend I would have believed you, dear, but you could never compete with the likes of me, not for someone like Sherlock. He likes his women...unique and tantalising. Not someone who needs money for beauty classes.”

Molly had to smack her. She couldn't see any other way out of it. This woman texted her boyfriend and then insulted her in what was now her second home. Who the hell did she think she was? Molly didn't even have time to think before she received a returning blow to the side of her head. Her hand reached out to touch her stinging cheek, the shock reeling in her brain, and she lost it. She threw a glass at Irene Adler's head, narrowly missing her temple, a plate went whizzing past her head, and she screamed. Molly paused for a second, wondering what on earth was going on. Irene was looking very smug about Molly seemingly having lost her fire so quickly, but she hadn't put money on Molly noticing where she was standing.

Molly rammed her into the kitchen counter with the table, effectively rupturing a major organ or two, just as another cup hit her forehead.

"Don't you have bloody children to pick up, grandma!" she yelled. "How dare you come into this flat and insult me? Who the bloody hell do you think you are? Were you expecting to sit in his bed like some sordid tramp until he came back? Flash him the old withered goods maybe? Did you not think that he might have a GIRLFRIEND? That you weren't that important?"

Molly gave Irene one last withering look as she lay crumpled over the table, clearly in pain, before turning on her heel and walking out of the flat, slamming the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for guessing which Sherlock character I am not really a fan of...


	14. Hooper AWOL Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock gets a fright and Mycroft gets a present.

Sherlock had not noticed that Molly had not texted him for several hours. In fact, he had decided not to disturb her because he was sure that she was too busy trying to figure out who Gossip Girl was to want to be disturbed or think about the dead bodies she would have to deal with. He did not even think to trouble himself when John texted him to tell him that he didn't think he could sink to a new low in life. Solving the murder of the poisoned man was most important, because he had concluded that it was murder, and everything else came second. At least that was what he always told himself.

When he walked into his flat to find the title menu of Gossip Girl playing over and over again, and Molly's chair obviously used but empty, he thought she was simply in the bathroom. It was only when he heard a quiet moan did he realise (very slowly for him) that something was very, very wrong.

“Irene?" Sherlock tried to hide the shock and confusion in his voice. Why was Irene Adler, dominatrix here? And where was Molly?

Sherlock's brain smoothly registered Irene's pained expression, the broken crockery on the floor, Molly's seemingly apparition into thin air and her lack of communication. There was a pregnant pause.

"What did you do to her?" he bit out. There was no time to waste, if he was right. His life depended on it.

"Sherlock, please, help me. Your...girlfriend...she went mental...left me here...you and I...are...special. Help me." Irene whispered, very slowly and obviously above great pain.

"If Molly hurt you, its probably no more than you deserve. It's like you say, Miss Adler, know what you are beaten."In one smooth action, Sherlock phoned Mycroft.

"Hello, dear brother, I can't talk long, I have some pressing business to attend to...No, not that, some other...personal business.”

“But I have someone in my flat who might be of interest to you. What you do with her is up to you...Yes, I dare say it will be worth the journey...As ever, Mycroft." He locked his phone, and turned back to Irene Adler.

"I don't ever want to see you again. " he bit out.

For the second time that day, Irene Adler heard the door of 221B Baker Street slam in the distance.

"Lestrade! I need your help. Lestrade!" Sherlock thundered into the Detective Inspector's office.

"What is it now,Sherlock?" Greg Lestrade was used to Sherlock billowing in at any hour of the day and night, claiming that something was important.

"Molly is missing. Molly...she's missing." Sherlock's eyes contained an anguish that he would have fervently denied if he could see it, but made Lestrade sit up in his chair and take notice of his friend.


	15. The Private Diary of Dr Molly Hooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our girl lets off some steam.

How on earth could I have been so stupid? I pined after him for years and years, and tried in vain to make him notice me, and I think it's all sweetness and light when he finally does notice me? He used me as nothing more than a ruse to get away from that woman or to make her jealous or something. Whatever it was, it was nothing to do with me. Stupid, big mouthed, small breasted, pathetic, pining Molly Hooper.

No wonder John and Lestrade feel sorry for me. Mycroft probably would too, if he remembered me at all. If his brother is anything to go by, he probably thinks the bodies examine themselves, I am that invisible.

I can't believe I fell in love with him, Diary. I let him seduce me and take me out to dinner and buy me sweet things. I thought he did it all because I was the reason he wanted to change. I was good enough to make him want to be normal. But instead, he is in his house with Irene Adler while I am holed up in Paris, the world's most romantic city all by myself. I even phoned my parents and told them to call the guard dogs, I mean my family, off the hunt because I was finally in a relationship. I dread what the Easter family gathering is going to be like when I can't make him materialise. I am sure they will joke about how I made him up or how he got bored of me because I couldn't produce the goods or I can't cook. Everybody hates me.

I hate him, Diary. I hate him with every fibre of my being. I disappeared from my job. I am almost certainly going to get fired. I am in a foreign land just to be away from him and I swear someone was following me last night. What did I ever do, Diary? Why does Irene Adler get to hold his attention and I am forced to put on lipstick and change my hair just so he will notice me? Why I am alone, in Paris, two weeks before Valentine's Day because my boyfriend is almost certainly sleeping with someone else? It isn't fair. I spent ages with my friends trying to find the perfect dress, and have the perfect hair so that I would look pretty but not as if I had tried too hard. Make him work for it, they said, let him chase you for a bit. When he chased me in the coffee shop, I should have stayed firm.

What do I do now? I can't stay here forever, and I don't want to go home. I don't want to be sucked into Sherlock's weird lifestyle and I can't leave my flat sat here empty. I hate him so much. He is so disruptive to everyone's life and he just sails through like a breath on the wind.

Has he even noticed I am missing?


	16. The Private Diary of Dr John Watson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short, sweet and some sass.

Poor Sherlock. He finally decides to be human and his girlfriend decides to run away on him without a word as to where she might be. 

She won't answer his calls, e-mails and none of her family know where she is. He looks beside himself with worry and stress. Still, at least it is because he actually cares about another human being and not just a case. I'm not bad for saying that am I?


	17. Hooper AWOL Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past couple of chapters have been short. This one isn’t. 
> 
> Sherlock misses his heart, and does something about it. Emotions, ignored for years, run high.

It had been 2 hours since Molly had disappeared and Sherlock was losing his mind with worry. He was able to solve puzzles because he was objective, rational and detached from what was going on. The interest was always in the case. Always.

Why had he got romantically involved with her? Why had he jeopardised his intelligence for chemicals and almost certain heartbreak? Was this crazy love feeling that everybody else talked about really worth this? His girlfriend had disappeared from the face of the earth and his...whatever she was was probably still in his apartment making an uncomfortable mess. Mrs Hudson would not be happy with him and, as much as he would normally care about Mrs Hudson's feelings, he had bigger fish to fry.

Sherlock swung around to Lestrade and his team, who were all on phones and computers answering telephone calls and emails from phone companies, security companies and taxi firms who may have some idea as to where Molly was.

"WHAT IS TAKING SO LONG? THE WOMAN I LOVE IS MISSING! ISN'T THIS THE KIND OF THING YOU GUYS DO?" Sherlock yelled out of nowhere. The whole office stopped.

In the tense silence that followed Sherlock's glower, Lestrade's phone rang.

“St Pancras? When? She was doing what? Alright I will let him know."

"What is it, Lestrade?" Sherlock visibly spurred himself into action, aware that, with Irene Adler behind this or somehow responsible, anything could be possible. Silently, he had been standing there, fighting visions of Molly in a ditch, poisoned, or worse...Sherlock hated himself for falling for her, and now he was going to pay.

"There are sightings of Molly at St Pancras. apparently at the ticket office. I can get you over there now to ask where she might have been going, but Sherlock..."

Sherlock was halfway out of the door before Lestrade could even finish his sentence.

"So..love?" John gently probed in the taxi on the way to St Pancras.

Sherlock said nothing.

"We will find her, Sherlock. You are the smartest man on the planet, everybody knows that. We will find her. I promise.”

Still Sherlock said nothing. He knew what John was trying to do, and it made him feel even worse. The smartest man on the planet would have seen Molly in some kind of trouble, or getting hurt. As it was, he had no idea whether she was hurt by him or by somebody else. He should have questioned Irene Adler, found out what she had said to Molly, why she was in his flat in the first place. The smartest man on the planet would have put his emotions on the back burner and asked the right questions. He was not used to being on the wrong side of rationality, and, when he found out who had fooled him, they would regret it.

"Why will nobody answer our questions!" Sherlock was virtually foaming at the mouth with rage.

"It's all bureaucracy and red tape! My girlfriend is MISSING. Not only am I not used to not being able to find someone, I am not used to this...ordinariness. I want to find her, and I want to find her now."

Sherlock had been accompanied by Donovan, Watson, Lestrade and some of his best men. Mycroft had very uncomfortably offered to join them if they needed further assistance, and Sherlock was very tempted, for the first time in his life, to take his elder brother up on the offer of help. They had spent the past 45 minutes asking which ticket staff had been on duty, and if anyone could tell them where she had gone, but without some authorisation from head office, there was little information they could give them.

"Alright, everyone. Let's stop and think." Lestrade tried to placate the apoplectic consulting detective. "We know that she was here sometime between 12 and 2, and that she likely got on a train. Question is, where did she go? Molly obviously left in a hurry, she would have gone somewhere that she has links to, or somewhere that has meaning for her. Has she ever mentioned anywhere along the train route? Come on everyone, think."

Normally Sherlock would have resented being told to think, but Lestrade had a point. He sat down on the nearest bench and went to his mind palace. Around him, the voices became muffled and distant.

“What is he doing? Sherlock! Now is not the time to daydream! In case you have forgotten, your girlfriend is missing?! John, what is he doing?"

"He is in his mind palace. Give him a second." John was obviously smarter than he looked.

"Agnes!" Sherlock cried.

"He has obviously lost his mind." Donovan commented drily. She did not seem happy to be there- probably because she wanted to get back to Anderson before his wife got back from the Lake District.

"Her great-aunt Agnes passed away two years ago, and she left Molly two things in the will: £5000 from her estate and a two bedroomed flat in the centre of Paris, right next to the Eiffel Tower. Molly sent to me one night after a particularly nasty suicide that, if she could escape from anywhere, it would be to the city of romance. She said it held a certain kind of magic for her, a magic where nothing ugly could touch it. How did I not see it before?”

Sherlock ran back to the ticket office, words streaming behind him.

"I thought she had gone back home to see her family, or maybe was staying with a friend or something. I had it all wrong. Oh! I can't believe I was so blind! I thought when she said something ugly, she was referring to her job, but no, Molly is too emotional for that. She meant feelings, ideas, people. Irene Adler drove her to Paris. What did she say?"

"What did who say?" John and Lestrade said in unison.

"Irene!" Sherlock bellowed.


	18. The Private Diary of Greg Lestrade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unrequited love sucks.

He must really love her. I have never seen him like this. I knew he loved his work, but this isn't a case. This is another human being. He would never admit feelings for just anyone. Even with the other woman that was in the picture, he couldn't admit it, and now he is just blurting it out to dozens of people. He really does care about her. 

Well, I am happy for her. She's a fantastic woman and deserves a good man, someone who will care for her, love her, and treat her like the sweet, kind, funny girl she is...

...I wish I had taken my chance. I wish it was me.


	19. The Private Diary of Sally Donovan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And...it all makes sense now!

Wow! Sherlock Holmes actually has a beating human heart and feelings underneath that cold exterior of his. From the moment I met him I knew there was something different, and I still want to know what it is...

...I hope he never told anyone about my failed attempt at that Christmas party 5 years ago...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ridiculously short, I know!
> 
> I always thought she had a crush, so I made it head canon. The muse does what the muse wants...


	20. Ain’t Too Proud to Beg!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title inspired by TLC song.
> 
> Sherlock says it with his chest.

Tired from worry, travelling and more worry, Sherlock raced from the door of the taxi to the door of the flat that Agnes Hooper had given to her great-niece.

"Molly! Molly! He yelled." There was no answer. Inside he panicked. She could be dead. It was well known that Sherlock was not averse to a bit of violence when it was required, but anyone would have been been impressed with the way Sherlock kicked down the door.

"Molly? Molly!?" Sherlock, overcoat flying behind him, sped from room to room, dread filling his every limb with every room he found empty. Either she wasn't here or...

The last room on this floor was the bedroom. Please be asleep Molly Hooper, please just be asleep. He pushed open the door to find Molly sat in a huge four poster bed, reading a Katie Fforde book of some description.

"Molly!" he wheezed.

"I don't want to see you, Sherlock." Molly turned away from him. He hadn't seen her this firm and cold with him since the day in the cafe when he asked her on a date. He was completely confused.

"Molly, what is going on? Why did you flee to Paris of all places? Everyone has been so worried about you! Why don't you want to see me? Why was Irene Adler injured on the floor? What happened?  
For all my “faults, I am not the kind of man who would purposely do anything to jeopardise our...relationship. Can't you see?! It took me years to acknowledge that you might be a romantic complement for me -"

"You don't need to remind me of how long it took, Sherlock, I was there. It certainly didn't seem to take you that long to make an arrangement with that other woman though, did it? She came into your flat, calling me the help and the maid, insinuated that she was in some kind of arrangement with you and told me I was ugly and needed money for beauty school and lessons. Then she attacked me for getting upset. I mean, what kind of company do you keep? Do I even know you at all? I spent years deluding myself that you were a good man. She deserved everything she got from me, and I won't apologise, so don't think you can make me."

Sherlock, for the first time, was unsure of how to proceed. This woman was the woman who had slammed someone else into kitchen cabinets with a wooden dining table. Any harder and she could have been charged with attempted murder or worse. Inadvertently, he grinned widely.

"Oh yeah, of course you would smile! So, what was this? Some kind of experiment? 'How long can I string along the pathetic pathologist?' That's cold, Mr Holmes, even for you." Molly's formal name for him hit him harder than it should have done.

"Molly, I grinned because I thought: if you had hit any harder with that table, you might be facing murder or attempted murder. I grinned because it made me realise even more that I underestimated you all these years. You may be quiet and timid, but you care. You have that fire. That makes me happy. Irene Adler had no right to come into my flat, she had no right to insult you and she most definitely had no right to attack you. Listen to me: she has no claim to me. She never did, and she never will."

Sherlock saw Molly pause. Molly saw Sherlock see her pause. They both instinctively knew that whoever got the next word in may very well dictate the way the “conversation ended. Naturally, Sherlock got there first.

"Molly, my love. You have been an unlikely distraction for me. A fantastic one. I never expected to feel the way I did when I upset you, and I never expected it to unfold the way it did, but I am glad it did. I am so glad it did. I am insufferable, intelligent, arrogant, fantastic and sometimes impossible to deal with. You know that and you have always loved me. I acted like you were nothing more than a timid pathologist, but the way you stood up for yourself...how can I deny that? How can you expect me to believe that you think I would never acknowledge that? I am here, Molly. I was worried out of my mind, thinking that you were hurt and I was never going to see you again. Yes, it used to be all about the work. I had no interest in romance. You know that better than anyone. I didn't think anything else mattered. But it did. Molly, it did. Why else would I try and stop you getting too far with Moriarty? Why would I flee the country, leaving everyone who was trying to help me behind without so much as a goodbye or a thank you?”

 

“You don't normally say goodbye or thank you anyway." Molly was still not budging as easily as Sherlock would hope.

"Regardless, Molly. You knew I was not the kind of man to fall in love or to let myself be distracted. Yet you took a chance. What kind of person would do that?"

Molly looked very insulted. Sherlock hurried on swiftly, getting up to pace the room.

"Only someone with a huge heart, lots of kindness and faith. You didn't care that I did not know that the earth goes around the sun. You don't hound me to sit with you to find out what those Carnation family were up to."

"Kardashian." Molly automatically corrected him.

Sherlock stopped dead in his tracks. He looked into her eyes and saw the defiance, the pride, the residual hurt, the pent up anger, and the courage staring back at him. For the first time in his life, Sherlock swore he felt his heart physically turn over in his chest. The small item that he had had in his coat pocket for nearly three weeks seemed to burn a hole straight through this thigh. He did not need to be the smartest man on the planet to know when he was being given a chance to make everything right. He stepped towards her.

"Let me tell you something: I yelled that you were the woman I loved in the middle of Scotland Yard. I considered accepting help from my brother to make sure you were safe. I told Irene Adler I never wanted her anywhere near you, me or any of us again; in fact I got her arrested. I let Donovan have endless material with which to mock me. I let Lestrade tell me to think. I am swallowing my pride to show you I care. Do you realise what this means?"

Molly shook her head, uncertain of what this strange man would make her feel next.

Sherlock slowly withdrew a black velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a three carat diamond ring, surrounded by 1.5 carat smaller diamonds. 

“Maybe this might help...Molly Amelia Hooper, will you marry me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, son.


	21. Epilogue: Me and Mr Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is smooth af.  
> Molly is the queen of holding out.  
> We say goodbye to our couple...for now.

Approx One Year Later

"Sherlock, your hands are freezing! Why don't you put your gloves on?! Gosh, you are a stubborn one." Molly jokingly chided her boyfriend.

"You know what they say don't you: cold hands, warm heart."

"I love you already remember, you don't have to charm me every day of the week."

"My aim is not to make you love me, it's to make sure you keep me, and I will do that in every way possible; you know I will." Sherlock, on the frozen ground, got down on bended knee, showing his girlfriend a brand new ring: 5 carat diamond ring surrounded by golden sapphires.

"This diamond: it reminds me of your smile. The golden sapphires remind me of your eyes when the sunlight hits them. “This ring is given to you with love. Molly Amelia Hooper. Will you do me the honour of being my wife?"

"Oh...oh my gosh" Molly gasped. "What happened to the old ring?"

Sherlock's face dropped. "This one made me think of you, and I wanted to give a new, more special one, than the last one. Create a new memory. Do you not like it?"

"I love it. But not more than I love you. Yes. Yes I will!."

Sherlock grinned widely and kissed his new fiance. It had taken him three proposals to make her say yes, but finally they were getting married. The original proposal had been turned down because she did not think it was the right time to get married, not with so many things to sort out and talk about. The second proposal did not really count as it had happened during a passionate encounter in a claw bath tub during a lovers' trip to Venice when emotions had been running very high- among other things. This time, on a very cold but romantic holiday, underneath the Northern Lights, it was perfect, and there was nothing to stop them.

"I love you." Sherlock whispered in her ear.

"I love you too, Mr Holmes."

Three Months After That

"Do you, Sherlock Maxwell Holmes, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?" asked the priest.

"I do." Sherlock Holmes, in a dove grey morning suit with pristine white shirt and ice blue tie, replied in his smooth tones, smiling at the woman in front of him.

"And do you, Molly Amelia Hooper, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?"

"Yes, I do." Molly, in a strapless sweetheart floor length wide white gown with satin gloves, smiled at her soon to be husband, happiness filling her heart.

"If there be no unlawful impediment as to why these two people cannot be married; may they speak now or forever hold their peace."

The silence around the room was deafening.

"Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride."

In front of their closest friends and family, Sherlock kissed his new wife. Mrs Hudson, resplendent in a pale blue tea dress and matching shawl, dabbed an eye. Mycroft, in a dark blue suit, clapped as he watched his younger brother escort his wife down the aisle. Watson grinned massively, pleased his best friend had finally found love.

As the soul choir sang "More than a Woman" by The Bee Gees, Sherlock looked down at his new wife as they walked down the silver carpet.

"I think Occam's Razor was right, Molly, the simplest theory is always the best. And that theory is that I love you.”

With that, he placed his hands on both sides of his face and kissed his wife, Dr Molly Amelia Hooper-Holmes, passionately, devotedly and lovingly. His true love, his partner, his unlikely distraction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fin.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story!   
> The next one is a series of relationship milestone drabbles covering the first 5 years of their relationship, and book 3 is the events which solidify their family unit.
> 
> Thanks for the subscriptions and support!
> 
> RC x

**Author's Note:**

> Love reviews and comments and cuddly things.
> 
> My note writing has clearly got worse with age! :O
> 
> RC x


End file.
